


Wonder

by Keeryd



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bad Parent Splinter (TMNT), Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Michelangelo (TMNT), Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Season/Series 04, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, kinda lol, nothin actually graphic tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29875920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keeryd/pseuds/Keeryd
Summary: He wonders, "would it be that bad?"His brain answers him with a simple "no".Or: Michelangelo takes a decision.
Kudos: 15





	Wonder

**Author's Note:**

> There's nothing heavily descripted so it should be somewhat "safe" to read I think, but just in case be careful.

There was a point in his life where everything began to feel like an extra burden on his back. 

Michelangelo had no idea when that had started to happen, he just knew it had been a long time ago. He could notice it now, but only because well, there were no more things to distract him from dealing with it. 

There was no longer a Shredder looking for him and his family to murder them, there was no longer an entire alien race trying to conquer his planet, there weren't even the Purple Dragons anymore, and the Foot Clan wasn't what it used to be now under the rule of his sister, Karai. There were no more life and death situations to keep him awake in pure adrenaline, no endless fights, not even dangerous mutants they had to take care of, that's what the Mutanimals were for. There was nothing for him and his siblings, they finally had the peaceful life they had dreamed of when all the chaos in their lives started five years ago. 

And yet, _Michelangelo felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff_. 

But life went on, he had to get up and make breakfast for his brothers, and get the coffee pot ready for Donatello when he bothered to leave his lab, which wasn't very often, but at least they got to see him for breakfast and dinner during the week. 

Everyone had their own way of dealing with, well, everything. A year ago they had buried his father, and while Michelangelo doesn't remember much of what happened at the small funeral they had done for him beyond blurry images or voices that sounded far off in the distance, he can remember well what he felt.

_**Nothing.** _

Throughout that year, especially the first few months, he wondered what was wrong with him, he saw his siblings sinking in their grief and sadness, in how much they missed their Sensei, especially Leonardo. But Michelangelo felt nothing, if he did cry over his death, he merely couldn't remember it.

Maybe he never loved his father like the others, and could they blame him? everything seemed to point out that his father didn't care about him like with the others either, like with Leonardo. Splinter was just an empty memory of what a father was supposed to be to him, and years of watching 80's VHSes had taught him that it was normal for his father to be that way, so it was okay by him, even if the mere thought made him angry some time after, it didn't usually last long, and it wasn't important. 

If his father never considered him important, why should he consider him that way? Why should he miss him and cry if Splinter was never there for him? 

And it was then that he noticed how little he cared about things, in how he felt out of place when he was in the room with his brothers, who seemed to still be trying to get over Splinter's death; when he heard them talking to each other and he just couldn't find a way to fit into the conversation, which eventually stopped mattering just the same, giving up trying to be there.

They didn't seem to mind Michelangelo distancing himself from them either, sometimes he doubted they had even noticed the change. 

But that was okay, not that he could do anything to change it, so he went about his business, with preparing meals and being there when Leonardo called them for weekly patrols, when there was training. It wasn't that he only paid attention to Leonardo, it was just that his other brothers never really needed him, never seemed to want to spend time with Michelangelo. 

They were just a shadow of the family they had been years ago, sticking together because there was nothing else for them to do, because they had never had any choice other than that. 

So lying on his shell in the darkness of his room, looking up at what he thought was the ceiling, the thought of running away, of running from what had once been his home, popped into his mind. It wasn't the first time, sometimes he felt short of breath, claustrophobic within the walls of the lair, among his brothers during breakfasts and dinners, it was in those moments that the idea sounded so wonderful and like the only answer, like the only thing that would ease the weight on his shoulders, like that would free him from the grip on his neck that was suffocating him. 

But Michelangelo knew well that it wasn't simply taking his things, maybe stealing a car on the way and driving as far away as possible without any note, it was more the permanent answer, where life stopped. He wonders if his father was enjoying some rest, he sometimes hoped he wasn't, but Michelangelo wanted that kind of rest for himself. 

Sometimes the thought frightened him, the idea of committing such a thing against himself; but the permanence of death didn't feel like such big deal to him, he felt desensitized to it, with the amount of times he had seen people die and occasionally come back. His own father was proof of that, two separate times he had believed Splinter had finally died only for him to... _come back_ , and then he didn't the next.

_But the third time was the charm, wasn't it?_

Maybe that was another reason why his death didn't affect him as much, they had all been on the brink of death so many times that it felt like a distant memory, like something that one way or another could be fixed. 

And it just was that yes, he didn't care anymore. 

He could see it on how his mouth felt blanched and dirty. In the way his body was slowly falling apart and getting out of shape, in how little he used to eat and how much he did eat after days, in the way his room was messier than ever. In how everything felt so bland to him, in the way he sometimes felt himself exploding for no reason, unable to release all that nameless turmoil inside. 

He felt detached to everything, there was a sole string connecting him to the remaining of his family that was so close to breaking apart, and sometimes he felt like breaking it himself. Maybe he should.

And so he wonders, _**would it be that bad?**_

His mind answers him with a simple **_no._**

Michelangelo takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, smiling to himself in the darkness of his room, feeling strangely calm. 

**_Yeah, it wouldn't be bad._ **

**Author's Note:**

> maybe it doesn't make sense bc i wrote it in one go and im like tired af, so yeah lol


End file.
